


From Me To You

by a_forgotten_note



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, M/M, The greatest of elements.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5405387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_forgotten_note/pseuds/a_forgotten_note
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After going through three several years of schooling, Alfred comes to the startling realization that he had no plans after college. Without much else to go for, he enrolls in the military for four years of initial deployment.<br/>But Afghanistan becomes very lonely very quick... In hopes of rekindling an old friendship, Alfred writes to his old college roommate. The only question is: will their letters relieve his homesickness, or will it only become worse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Me To You

**Author's Note:**

> An early Christmas present for a [ dear friend. ](http://aphlibertea.tumblr.com/)  
> Happy Christmas, dearest!

It had all started with a letter.

Alfred had been in Afghanistan for only two months, and already he was being driven insane. Men and women would get mail from loved ones and friends that wished them well and offered their support. Alfred, on the other hand, would sit and eat his food quietly as the mail was handed out. He had no parents to send him warm wishes – not that he’d need them in this god forsaken heat – and seldom friends that would deign to send him a few kind words.

Though there were dozens of people around him that were marching forward with the pride of the American flag, Alfred couldn’t help but feel lonely. He loved fighting for his country just as much as the next guy, but he was starting to yearn for the ease of city life. He wanted the familiarity of his old, college dorm. He wanted his comfortable pajamas and chilly September days in Washington. He wanted a lazy Sundays of videogames and pizza. But, more than anything, he wanted to see his old roommate, Arthur Kirkland.

He missed Arthur’s morning griping and clever antics he’d use to get his way. Alfred called him out on it, but Arthur would laugh it off. He missed the whistle of Arthur’s tea kettle, and the way Arthur would read poetry aloud to himself when he thought Alfred was asleep on the sofa. Alfred would never admit it, but he liked when Arthur would read sonnets the most. He missed Arthur’s sharp, British accent, and the way he would get ridiculously giggly when he ate sweets. It was stupid, but endearing at the same time. Alfred never let him live it down.

Alfred craved that human companionship that he’d had with Arthur. That fundamental _click_ that went both ways. The electric current that ran on a frequency that few people could achieve. Arthur had that current… he had the frequency. And their friendship had been mutually beneficial because of it. But sadly, no one in his company was on the same wavelength as Alfred.

And that’s when Alfred took one of the extra pieces of paper that one of his bunkmates had been sent, and started to write.

_Arthur,_

Alfred licked his lips and nodded to himself as a few guys next to him laughed at something that their families had written to them. Alfred ignored them and hunched over his paper, biting his bottom lip and glaring down at the pen as he carefully wrote more.

 _I know it’s been a while._ _But I wanted to write to you because_

Alfred frowned. Because… why? Why did he want to tell Arthur that he was lonely and missed being in the old, college dorms with him? Didn’t that sound a little… _too_ intimate? He didn’t want Arthur to be weirded out. Wrinkling his nose, Alfred tried to work around what he wrote.

_But I wanted to write to you because you’re the only person I want to talk to. I’m doing pretty good. I’ve been helping repair some cities and move supplies from different camps. I made two bros. John and Alex. They’re pretty cool._

Pausing, Alfred looked over his sloppy handwriting and inadequate wording. Arthur would hate his grammar, but that thought made Alfred smile. Arthur was funny when he was irritated. But, aside from irritating Arthur, what did he want to accomplish with the letter? What did he want from Arthur in return? Alfred knew… he wanted a response. He wanted the scheduled correspondence that everyone else got when the mail was airdropped.

Nodding to himself again, Alfred tried to stir up details on Arthur’s life.

_It’s almost December. Are your finals coming up soon? What classes are you taking? Still going to be an English Teacher?_

Next to Alfred, a few guys knocked into each other and sent Alfred’s hand to go sliding across the page. Though a few of them laughed and apologized, Alfred simply frowned at the dark, offending line that marked five inches across the paper. Resetting his hand on the page, Alfred huffed and carefully continued, leaning away from the rowdier men.

_I hope you get this letter okay. I’m addressing it to our dorm._

Alfred hesitated, then asked the question that itched in the back of his brain.

_Did you ever get a new roommate?_

Rolling his eyes, Alfred almost scribbled out the question. Arthur would probably find that question really awkward. But, it was too late. It was written down in blue ink, and Alfred didn’t want to risk ripping the one piece of paper he’d been given by scribbling on it. So he quickly finished.

_Anyway, I’ll talk to you later I guess._

_– Alfred F. Jones_

After spending his little earned allowance on an envelope and stamps, Alfred wrote his – and Arthur’s – old address on the envelope, and stuck it in his pack to be sent away the next time the mail would be picked up. Hopefully, if Arthur wasn’t upset that Alfred left without much of a “goodbye,” he would write back. If Arthur _did_ write back, Alfred might get a bit of comfort from their rekindled friendship. Then, maybe… just maybe, Alfred wouldn’t feel so lonely.

+++++

Alfred laid back with a cloth over his face and a sigh on his lips. It had been three weeks since he’d sent his letter to Arthur, and he’d given up on gaining a response. It was a slow day where they were yet to get their commands, and Alfred’s company simply sat and contemplated the pros and cons of burying each other in the dirt.

“But,” Margaret, the taller of the two girls, said carefully as she grabbed a handful of dirt and let it run through her fingers. “If we bury David and he falls asleep, would that be torture… or a favor?”

“I think _everybody_ would say that’s a favor,” Alfred deadpanned as he lifted the cloth from his face, squinted up at his dirt-clouded glasses, and lowered the cloth again. “God, I wanna go back to sleep.”

David snorted. “Dudes… don’t bury me. Bury Alex.”

Before anyone could object to burying Alex, Chris scrambled up from his place on the crumbling floor and started running.

“Mail!” Chris yelled at the top of his lungs as he went, launching himself over the sandy dunes of their current town.

Several soldiers had been tracking the helicopter across the sky carefully, cautiously watching to see if it would drop down on them. But when Chris had gotten up and started to run, everyone followed suit. Even Alfred tripped through the dirt and dust to reach the sack of mail first.

Part of Alfred said he’d given up on Arthur’s response, but when he was caught up in the burning, excited attitude of the people around him, he couldn’t help but hurtle across the ground at record speed. He knocked elbows with several people and nearly tripped several times, but he merely ducked and dove when the mail was dropped in its designated place and the helicopter hovered overhead.

A few people stopped to shout something at the drivers of the copter, but Alfred busied himself with grabbing the bag alongside four other soldiers. They dragged it away from the drop site and waited for the helicopter to leave before they tore it open.

From there, Alfred’s hands shook as he sifted through the mail along with Alex, John, and Sarah, calling names and handing away packages. After most of the boxes were gone, Alfred’s heart started to pound when he saw a few letters left in the bottom of the bag. One for Sarah, one for Chris… Alfred handed them away. Taking up the last letter, Alfred clearly read his own name in Arthur’s normal, looping handwriting that he’d come to know and love.

“Whoa,” Alex smiled, “Look who finally got mail!”

While Alfred’s company slapped him on the back and laughed with relief that Alfred wouldn’t be moping about not getting a response, Alfred traced his fingers over the return address label. The address was still the same. The dorm, the name, the perfect handwriting… Alfred felt a stupid smile come to his face.

“Who is ‘Arthur Kirkland?’” Sarah asked loudly, leaning over Alfred’s shoulder to read the letter.

Alfred held the envelope to his chest, glaring at Sarah’s bright, hazel eyes. “Just a guy.”

A chorus of speculative noises echoed through the group, and several of the males looked at each other uneasily. Quickly trying to make sure his fellow soldiers weren’t uncomfortable, Alfred shrugged his shoulders and stood up, still holding the letter to his chest.

“We went to school together for a while,” only Alex and John relaxed, leaving three other men to duck their heads and avoid Alfred’s eyes. Sarah and Margaret, however, smiled at each other and worked on opening the boxes they were sent. Trying too hard, Alfred vehemently said, “We’re just really good friends.”

“Sure, man,” Alex said with a smile and a nod, ripping open the manila envelope he’d been given. “We get it.”

Turning his back to the other soldiers, Alfred hastily tore open the envelope and quickly pulled out two pieces of crisp, white paper. Unstained and perfectly folded… it was definitely a letter from Arthur. Biting his lower lip, Alfred unfolded the paper and soaked up every word on the page.

_Alfred,_

_It has been a while, hasn’t it? A year, to be exact. You sailed away for training faster than I could’ve ever imagined. For a long time, I wondered if I’d done something wrong. But I’m glad you’ve decided to talk to me again._

_I’m also glad you’ve decided to write to me. And you’ve been doing ‘well,’ not ‘good.’ Haven’t you learned anything from my grammar lessons, you twit? John and Alex sound like fair chaps. I hope you don’t keep them up at night singing the Star Wars theme song like you used to do back here._

_December is already here, Alfred. But I assume it takes a while for mail to be exchanged back and forth. A bit longer than you expected, I’m sure. Finals are in two weeks. I think I’m unprepared, but that should be the least of your thoughts. I’m busy with history classes and philosophy electives… I’ve decided against English. I’m going to be a history professor._

_Before you start to fret, I’ll tell you that I haven’t gotten a new roommate. It didn’t seem right to replace you with someone else. If you ever decide to come back to school, your room will always be open for you._

_I hope to hear from you again. This lets me know you’re alive. Let’s keep it that way, shall we? Don’t go being a hero, now. The world is better with you in it._

_Your friend,_

_– Arthur Kirkland_

Alfred grinned like an idiot. Arthur still wanted to be friends, even if Alfred had run off without much thought. It was still something that Arthur wanted… and something Alfred was breathlessly grateful for. Taking a breath, Alfred sighed happily and considered what he would write Arthur in return. Looking down at the short letter, Alfred looked at the second paper. Blank. It was for Alfred to write a letter in return.

With a smile, Alfred folded the spare paper and tucked it into his shirt so he could put it in his pack later. He was too jittery to write, now. His heart was pounding, his mind was racing… It was normal to be this excited about a letter from a friend, right? Alfred hoped the bliss that came from the letter was normal, even as Sarah leaned over his shoulder to read Arthur’s letter herself.

Innocent, youthful excitement was normal, Alfred reasoned. His parents had died when he was seventeen, so having a friend like Arthur that would stick with him and give him comfort… it was probably a coping mechanism. Alfred nodded to himself. His friendship with Arthur was completely normal, and the warmth in his chest was something that could happen with anyone.

At least… that’s how it started.

+++++

Alfred sat quietly with his hands wrapped around several letters he’d received from Arthur. He was finally back in the states for the first time since he’d left for his tour of duty. Everyone else in his company had gone home several times for holidays or special occasions, but Alfred had always stayed in Afghanistan. For two years, he’d been saving his earned leave days… saving them all for Arthur. He                                                           _would_ have gone back earlier, but he didn’t want to seem too desperate. He didn’t want to get in the way of Arthur’s crucial studies, and he didn’t want to interrupt Arthur’s bustling life.

And so he’d spend two years in Afghanistan, building up the courage to finally go back to Arthur. The Brit had already graduated from college, and was working a steady job as a college professor. His address had changed, but he’d been kind enough to tell Alfred the new address, just in case he needed a place to go when he came back. And now, as Alfred sat tapping his fingers against a page that described Arthur’s brothers and sisters, he couldn’t help but feel nervously excited.

How much had Arthur changed physically? Had he ever gotten any taller? Was his hair any longer or a different style? Was he still wearing those stupid sweaters he always loved, even though he was a formal professor at a prestigious university? Alfred had missed his past two birthdays… but he would make sure to celebrate the fact that they were both twenty-six years old when he saw Arthur.

Trying not to push himself into a state of panic, Alfred looked out the windows of the taxi he was riding in. They were zipping through the busy, city streets, and Alfred sat back against the seats quietly. Tall buildings passed him by, and Alfred knew they should’ve felt familiar, but he looked up at the buildings with blank, unrecognizing expressions. His heart fluttered nervously at the thought of Arthur’s new home. What if Arthur had gotten a roommate in the two years they’d been exchanging letters? Or… what if… he had a boyfriend? He’d always known that Arthur preferred men, and it would be strange for someone to be alone for so long, but… Something in Alfred’s stomach clenched anxiously at that thought. Why?

Before Alfred could delve into his subconscious and unmask the reason for his discomfort, the taxi stopped in front of a small, grey house. The front door held the shining, gold numbers, 221. Alfred remembered writing those numbers on his letters for the past five months. Each house on the street was close with barely any space between the outside walls for alleys and garbage cans. Alfred remembered wishing for a house like this when he was younger. He remembered wanting to grow up in the city in a comfortable house. Now, surprisingly, Arthur was living in a house all on his own.

After paying the cab driver, Alfred climbed out of the car and gave Arthur’s house a speculative look. Arthur was just teaching at a college. How did he have enough money to afford a house as nice as this one? Alfred would’ve been impressed if Arthur could even afford an apartment in this fancy, uptown side of Seattle. But… a _house_?

Slowly trudging up the stairs, Alfred shoved Arthur’s comforting letters into his coat and carefully inspected the outside of the house. The windows had nice curtains hanging on the inside; Alfred remembered those curtains from the dorm. Arthur’s mother sent them to him. Lifting his hand, Alfred knocked on the solid, wood door three times.

After twenty seconds passed, Alfred started to feel sick to his stomach. It was almost 7 pm… Arthur should have been home at this time. When they were in school – Hell, what they did while in college didn’t mean anything, anymore. Arthur was a grown man with a real job. And Alfred didn’t even know if he was home. Arthur could’ve been out at a bar, or even… out on a date. Another pang went through Alfred’s stomach, and he knocked on the door again.

What if Arthur really _wasn’t_ home? How could he find Arthur? He had Arthur’s cell phone number, but he had no phone to call him with. Were there still payphones in the city? He should’ve told Arthur he was coming back to the states. He shouldn’t have tried to surprise him… now, he was waiting on Arthur’s doorstep with a heavy bag and the chilly wind of spring.

Alfred turned around and looked at the streets around him, watching a family of four run across the crosswalk with laughs and smiles. He could probably ask any one of them if he could use their phone… Once they saw him in his military issued camouflage, they might sympathize with a soldier who was down on his luck. But, wouldn’t that be manipulative? Using his position as a soldier to gain sympathy? Turning away from the streets, Alfred desperately slammed his fist against the door again.

He heard a voice shout something from inside the house; he couldn’t understand what was said, but it was definitely Arthur. There was a sharp tilt to the voice, and Alfred could almost hear the irritated frown on Arthur’s face. Alfred found his own lips turn up in a smile before he even saw Arthur… he really missed Arthur. Why did he wait so long to come back? What had he been worried about? None of it really mattered anymore. Alfred couldn’t remember. He simply wanted to see Arthur.

When the door swung open, Alfred blinked at the vision of a man that he had almost forgotten. Straw-colored hair that was perpetually mussed and perfect. Green eyes that shone with intelligence and sharp wit. A pale, grey sweater that wasn’t exactly becoming on him and a khakis that made him look older than he truly was. He’d grown a bit, but still stood shorter than Alfred. Perfect. Perfect in every way. And Alfred stood there, looking him up and down and openly admiring his perfection. Arthur’s green eyes went wide as his jaw went slack.

“Surprise,” Alfred breathed, spreading his hands wide in a vague use of showmanship. Arthur simply blinked in disbelief, shaking his head to and fro before staring at Alfred a bit longer. Alfred licked his lips and cleared his throat. “So, yeah… I’ve been out for… two years. And um… I earn two and a half days of leave for every month I’m there. Everyone else normally goes home for the holidays, but I never did.” Arthur took a breath as if he was going to say something, but let it out without speaking, choosing to continue staring. Alfred ran a hand though his own hair awkwardly. “Okay, so… I just wanted to see you. Again, I mean. ‘Cuz I haven’t seen you in forever and, I just… Well, I wanted to… I don’t have to be here if you don’t want me to –”

“Oh my god.” Arthur breathed, reaching up for Alfred carefully. Alfred smiled when Arthur’s hands landed on his shoulders and pulled him down for a hug. His bag slid off his shoulder and onto Arthur’s front step, but neither of them cared. Alfred merely wrapped his arms around Arthur and held on tight. “Oh my god,” Arthur repeated, gripping Alfred’s shoulders and laughing excitedly. “Welcome back! W-welcome home! I… oh my god… You just… I wasn’t expecting… Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” Alfred nodded, patting Arthur’s back carefully.

Friends hugged like this all the time, right? This had to be normal. They just missed each other. That was all. Alfred closed his eyes and hummed when Arthur’s hands slid over his shoulder blades. It was completely normal for that action to be so perfectly soothing, Alfred reassured himself as he practically drooled against Arthur’s shoulder. Holding Arthur close enough that he could feel the heavy throb of Arthur’s heart against his own chest was a natural thing to do. Especially if they missed each other. It was normal for friends to cling to each other and not want to let go. And Alfred… he knew he never wanted to let go.

But, the peaceful moment was short-lived. A voice, clear and bass, echoed throughout the halls of the house and to the entryway where they stood. Alfred’s eyes opened wide. It was a man’s voice. Recognition struck Alfred like a bolt of lightning; Arthur had _company_. Releasing the smaller man, Alfred stood up straight and took a deep – if not shaking – breath.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “Didn’t know you, um…” Arthur sat back with a confused expression, and Alfred motioned to the interior of the house. “You and uh… So,” Alfred fought to give Arthur a trusting smile. “You got a boyfriend. That’s cool. I mean, whatever makes you happy, man. I just –”

“What?” Arthur sputtered, looking over his shoulder quickly before he turned back to Alfred with a horrified look. “No! No, I’m… I was listening to a lecture! There’s this professor in Cambridge, and he’s giving a lecture on Russian poetry. I was listening and didn’t hear you at the door… I just forgot to turn off the broadcast.” Waving Alfred inside the house, Arthur turned around and padded down the hall. “Come in, come in… I’ll turn it off.”

Alfred lifted his bag, set it directly inside the door, and stepped inside. When he closed the door behind himself, he looked around at the pale, blue interior and family photos that hung on the walls. Pictures of Arthur’s two older brothers and his big sister, all laughing and playing outside when they were younger. Some pictures were of Arthur holding diplomas, first from high school, then one from college. His parents stood beside him in each photo, their faces shining with pride and their eyes glistening with tears. Alfred wished he could’ve been there for Arthur’s graduation, but he hadn’t built up the courage to formally request the time.

Turning away from the pictures – Alfred swore he saw a picture of Arthur and himself from their college days – Alfred surveyed the rest of the hallway. A few of Arthur’s familiar hanging plants were suspended from the ceiling, swaying slightly when Arthur rushed past them and through a doorway on his left. After a few, short seconds, the droning lecture that swam through the air was silenced, and Arthur’s quiet, pattering feet echoed down the halls as he stepped through the doorway and back into Alfred’s line of sight.

“Nice place,” Alfred muttered as he waved at the inside of the house. He hadn’t even seen the living room, let alone the second floor. It was probably gorgeous. Arthur always had a domestic taste for furnishing. Alfred loved that.

Arthur shrugged. “I’ve… been publishing a few papers that help students with their English assignments and citations,” he murmured, pushing the heel of his hand through his hair slowly. “I had a few publishers approach me about writing a book, and I thought… Why not? So, I made a deal, have a contract with a publisher, and earned myself a lovely paycheck.”

“You never wrote about that.” Alfred remarked with a careful smile. “Remind me again why you _didn’t_ want to become an English teacher?”

Giving Alfred a smile in return, Arthur pushed his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “I like history just as much as I like English, Alfred. But that’s not the point,” he said with a shake of his head, waving Alfred into the kitchen. “Here, sit down… tell me everything. How are you?”

Alfred trailed Arthur into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table off to the left and letting out a long breath. “Um…”

“Did you get hurt? Did you help a lot of people?” Arthur asked as he wandered about the kitchen and filled a kettle with water. Alfred awkwardly hummed to himself again, and Arthur set the kettle on the burner. “Where did you go? What kind of people did you meet? Oh! Did you ever –”

“Okay, motor mouth,” Alfred said as he held up his hands in surrender. “Let’s go one question at the time.”

Arthur turned around to face Alfred and laughed. Alfred sat back in his chair with a relieved smile. He’d missed Arthur’s laugh. He’d missed everything about Arthur, and as Alfred sat back in his chair, smiling at Arthur and gaining Arthur’s gleeful smile in return, Alfred finally felt like he was home.

“All right,” Arthur agreed, pulling out a chair and sitting down in front of Alfred. “First question: Why didn’t you come home earlier? I mean… why didn’t you visit earlier, if you had the chance?”

“I dunno,” Alfred muttered as he tapped his palms against the surface of Arthur’s nice, hardwood table. “I guess… I didn’t feel like I really _needed_ to go back, ya know? Like… everyone else left to go see their families, but… my parents are gone, and I don’t have siblings.” Alfred shrugged. “I don’t know. I felt like I’d just be wasting your time if I came back.”

“You’d never waste my time,” Arthur said with a smile that made the butterflies in Alfred’s stomach flutter their wings anxiously. Clasping his hands together atop the table, Arthur leaned forward and muttered, “I _always_ give my time away. Especially for you.”

“Just for me?” Alfred said with a sarcastic flutter of his eyelashes.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, you oaf. You get a lot of my time,” he paused, “Well, maybe most of my time.” Another pause, and Arthur finally lifted his gaze from the table to look Alfred in the eye and say, “All of my time.”

The butterflies in Alfred’s stomach turned to ash as a strange, confusing heat built up in his core. Arthur had never said anything like that before. He’d never looked at Alfred like that before. Licking his lips, Alfred carefully steered the conversation back into safe territory where his stomach didn’t twist itself into knots and his ears didn’t burn with a barely hidden blush.

“So! Publishing books, huh? That must be exciting.”

Arthur blinked spastically at the enthusiastic subject change, but took it in his stride as he smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I’m new to writing books, but I get to make a lot of diagrams and share helpful little tricks that got me through plenty of essays and projects.” Sitting back in his chair, Arthur let his eyes glance around the kitchen as he sighed, “You know, I really didn’t think I needed all this space when I started writing. I really didn’t. It was my publisher’s idea to by this house.”

That piqued Alfred’s interest, and he quirked an eyebrow at the statement. “You let your publisher tell you how to spend your fancy, book-writin’ money?”

Arthur groaned and nodded his head, closing his eyes tight as he spoke. “Oh, he’s a horrible man. Terrible. The two of you would get along swimmingly.” Alfred made a face at that, but Arthur was quick to continue. “He’s always so happy; you’d like that. And he’s too… _charismatic_ , if that makes sense. He knows it, too. The smug git…” When the kettle started to steam and whistle, Arthur stood up and took it off of the burner, opening a cabinet that Alfred supposed was designated for tea. As he pulled a teabag from a tin canister and put it in one of two cups, Arthur spoke in a horribly executed Spanish accent. “Dios mio, Arthur! It pains my heart to see you save all this money. Treat yourself with gifts! You deserve a lovely home!”

Alfred squirmed in his seat with an uncomfortable smile. It sounded like Arthur’s publisher really liked him. Or, at the very least, he thought big of Arthur. Arthur had always been a bit callous… he was obviously dramatizing when he said his publisher was horrible, so did that mean he really like the Spanish man?

Sitting forward in his chair, Alfred struggled to continue smiling as Arthur mixed a packet of hot cocoa into the second mug. “He sounds… _swell_.” Arthur snorted, and Alfred tried again. “So, you ever… I dunno… thought about going to dinner with him? Maybe a date or something? He sounds like he likes you. At least, that’s what I’m getting, here.”

Arthur’s hand that stirred the hot cocoa halted, and Arthur turned to regard Alfred with a pensive stare. “Antonio? My publisher? On a date?”

Alfred shrugged and looked down at the tabletop quietly, looking at the small scratches that littered the circumference of the round table. “I mean, I know you were into guys, so…”

“So, you automatically assume I’ll like Antonio because he’s male?” Arthur finished for Alfred, crossing his arms over his chest as he raised his chin with haughty smile.

“No, no!” Alfred said, waving his hands back and forth in an attempt to push the statement away. “I was just saying… It sounds like he likes you, so –”

“So what?” Arthur asked, leaning back against the counter and crossing his right foot over his left. “I’m just supposed to date whoever shows me the slightest bit of interest?”

Alfred panicked. “No! I’m just saying,” he glanced up at Arthur’s posture and smug grin. It was a trap. Arthur was using mind games to make Alfred trip over his own tongue. Biting the inside of his cheek, Alfred smiled back at his old friend. “You’re making me shove my foot into my mouth. You always used to do that.”

Arthur chuckled and brought the two mugs to the table, sliding Alfred a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Alfred wrapped his hands around the drink and pulled it close, smiling up at Arthur through the steam-clouded lenses of his glasses. “Just like old times,” he muttered.

Pulling the string on his teabag, Arthur traced the rim of hi cup slowly as he looked Alfred with a cheeky but content smile. “Yes,” he murmured as he released the teabag and let it sink to the bottom of the cup. Alfred took a sip of cocoa. Arthur sighed happily. “Just like old times.”

They sat at that table and spoke for hours, long forgetting their quickly cooling beverages. Arthur told Alfred everything about college and a short-time boyfriend that, for reasons unexplained, didn’t work out. Alfred offered his sympathy, but Arthur insisted it was fine. “Just wasn’t meant to be,” he’d assured. After that, Arthur went on to tell Alfred that he barely lived in an apartment for very long. He’d started working on his helpful English papers soon after he began to teach, and within two months, Antonio Carriedo approached him with a business proposition.

“It was like something out of a novel,” Arthur laughed to himself as he talked. “I couldn’t believe it. And then I was signing a check for an obscene amount of money, people were buying my books… It’ was ridiculous. And now I’m here.”

Alfred nodded and looked around the spacious kitchen that Arthur doubtfully used. When they first met, Arthur would burn everything he tried to cook. He’d get distracted by something and just let it cook or bake too long. Alfred quickly noticed this, and was happy to teach Arthur the art of using a cooking timer. After that, Arthur had devoted his time to baking cookies and only cookies. To this day, Alfred doubted he ever really wanted to make anything else. Arthur had a ridiculous sweet tooth.

But, Arthur was quickly finished with his story about his publisher, and moved on to the broader topic of his family. His brother, Alistair, had gotten married to a lovely woman named Mariah. They were expecting a baby. Alfred congratulated them, and Arthur flushed and smiled as if _he_ was the parent. He went on to tell Alfred about how Seamus was working at a busy law firm and hardly had time to talk to anyone. Alfred winced at that, but Arthur waved it away, saying it wasn’t really a big deal.

Arthur then moved on to talk about his parents and their unpredictable retired-life. They were apparently on a cruise in the Caribbean, and wouldn’t return until the fall. But, it was a mystery as to whether or not they’d be coming back to America, or spirit themselves away to England. When he spoke about it, Arthur’s gaze got faraway and wistful, like he wished he could be out there with them.

“But enough of that,” Arthur said with a flippant wave of his hand. He rested his chin in his palm and leaned forward across the table, giving Alfred a wide, excited smile. “Tell me _everything_.”

Sitting back with a heavy sigh, Alfred raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Well… that’s a lot of stuff to cover.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes as his smile grew sly. “I think I can handle it.”

And so, Alfred started from base camp. He told Arthur about the grueling training, and how he fell face-first into the dirt more than once. He told Arthur how homesick he’d felt, and how that feeling never went away. When Arthur started to give him a sad, pitying look, Alfred told him about the positive aspects of serving for his country.

Alfred spoke endlessly about the beautiful blue skies that stretched on forever in the dead heat of Afghanistan. He explained the help that he gave to Afghanistan, and how he was proud to be working so hard for a good cause. He told him about the children that would come play with his company if they had finished moving their supplies. He even told Arthur about his friends.

Though Alfred used the term “friends” loosely, Arthur seemed greatly enthralled by the idea of having such a close-knit group, and eagerly listened to everything Alfred said. When Alfred started talking, he didn’t exactly know where to stop. He had so much to say that he’d never been able to put into words, and so many stories that wouldn’t fit on the one piece of paper he’d been given.

He told Arthur about his strangely sleepless nights and how he dreamed of coming home. Arthur smiled at that. He told him about how he would keep Arthur’s letters close, wherever they went, wanting to keep them safe in case he didn’t have time to grab his pack. Arthur ducked his head shyly, but smiled a little wider. With every breath and every sentence, it felt like Alfred was stitching the gap between them closed, and before he could even acknowledge it, he was reaching across the table for Arthur’s hand.

It was an intimate act. Alfred knew it, but didn’t stop it. He kept talking, desperately trying to drown out the sound of alarms and bells going off in the back of his mind as Arthur continued to dutifully listen. Was Arthur bothered that he took his hand? Was that over the boundary for friendship? But, know that he was thinking about it, did he really want to be friends with Arthur, or…?

Alfred’s brain was running on autopilot, spouting out random things as Alfred contemplated his sexuality. He had always liked Arthur more than any other friend he’d had before. Maybe Alfred just had a secret part of him that had been waiting for this moment. Waiting for the split second that Alfred took Arthur’s hand and realized… he didn’t want to let go.

Just when Alfred was afraid he’d run out of things to say as his mind wandered, Arthur turned his hand over to hold onto Alfred’s. Just like that, they were holding hands as Alfred struggled to explain the function of a semi-automatic rifle.

Arthur was surely bored. What person in their right mind would want to know how Alfred deconstructed his weapon to clean it? But Alfred kept talking, slightly distracted by the way Arthur’s thumb brushed over this knuckles. It was so soothing… and his hands were soft. Had they always been that soft? Alfred blinked, and stared at Arthur’s calm, thoughtful eyes.

“Uh… what was I talking about?” Alfred asked quietly, squeezing Arthur’s hand a bit.

Arthur laughed and picked up his tea, only to make a face at it when he realized it was too cold to drink. He set the cup back down. “I think you’re tired, Alfred. I’m sure it’s late,” he turned around to glance at the clock on the wall and turned back to Alfred with wide eyes. “And we’ve only been talking for three hours! Christ, I don’t think I’ve spoken with anyone that long before since…” he blinked down at their joined hands before smiling. “Well, since we lived together in that tiny dorm.”

“Those were the good old days,” Alfred said softly, tapping his thumb against the side of Arthur’s hand. “Weren’t they?”

“Yes,” Arthur sighed as he glanced up at Alfred with a warm gaze. “I believe you’re right.”

+++++

Alfred stood quietly with Arthur in the airport. Their eyes were directed up at the large panel that stated his flight to base camp was boarding. From there, he would go back to the hot dessert, and far from the foggy, cool mornings of Seattle. Far from waking up to Arthur’s singing in the shower down the hall, and far from stealing cookies from the cabinet when Arthur wasn’t looking. And… far away from the feelings he had for Arthur.

For the past few weeks, Alfred had been sleeping in Arthur’s spacious spare bedroom at night, eating breakfast with Arthur before he headed off to morning classes, and lounging about the city during the day. Evenings had been Alfred’s favorites; he’d stayed up late and watched movies with Arthur. Or, more aptly, he would watch Arthur during the movie and hardly notice the film.

Arthur would, without fail, fall asleep in the middle of each movie, just as he always did when they were in college. Alfred would graciously lean a bit closer and let Arthur rest his tired head on his sturdy shoulder. Surely, Arthur knew that he would fall asleep if he watched a movie with Alfred in the evening. He must have known… but if Alfred sat down on the sofa next to him, Arthur would offer to turn on a movie. This would lead to a rather pleasant hour or two of Arthur laying against Alfred during which Alfred had no intention of moving away.

But the weeks had gone too fast, and as Alfred stared up at the sign that clearly read, “Now Boarding,” he couldn’t help but wish that everything could slow down. He needed just a bit longer. Just a few days to memorize the way Arthur would look at him when they would quietly smile at each other during breakfast. He needed a few more hours to listen to Arthur’s voice and record the sound in his mind so he could play it back when he was lonely. He needed a couple more minutes to hold Arthur close and pretend he never had to let go. He only needed a few seconds to confess that he was in love with Arthur.

He needed it, but he couldn’t conjure time, nor could he rewind it. He had to use what time was left at his disposal.

Turning to Arthur with every intention of coming clean with is feelings, Alfred opened his mouth just in time for Arthur wrap his arms around his neck and pull him down. The embrace was tight and desperate, like Arthur was afraid Alfred would fall to pieces if he didn’t hold him together. Alfred returned the hug, gripping the small of Arthur’s back and grasping at his sweater anxiously.

He could feel the contraction of Arthur’s lungs as he took one slow, sad breath after another. He smelled like the lilac soap Alfred had used in the shower the day before, and Alfred inhaled slowly, trying to remember the scent for the rest of his life. Arthur’s right hand lifted from Alfred’s back to slowly comb through Alfred’s short hair, and Alfred heard Arthur give a muffled sniffle as they clung to each other.

“You’ll write to me again?” Arthur breathed over the constant clamor around them.

Alfred nodded, pressing his cheek to the softness of Arthur’s gold-spun hair. “Yeah… the mail drop spot might change, so I’ll make sure to tell you.”

Arthur nodded again, but didn’t let go. Taking a deep breath, Alfred shifted his feet a bit further apart, closing his eyes as he drank in the feeling of holding Arthur close. It might be the last chanced he’d ever get to hold Arthur this way… even if he had the courage to tell Arthur how he felt, Arthur might not accept his feelings, and Alfred would be left with nothing to do but sit in Afghanistan, dreaming of a romance that would never happen.

Taking a deep breath, Alfred reasoned that it would be best to keep his feelings to himself. If he told Arthur the truth, he would no doubt be rejected. But, if he suppressed his feelings, he could keep being Arthur’s friends without any issue. Couldn’t he?

A flight attendant called for the entirety of Alfred’s boarding group, and Arthur dug his nails into Alfred’s shoulders as if he could force Alfred to stay. If only he could.

“I have to go,” Alfred whispered.

“I know.”

Another long minute of silence passed them, and Alfred began to feel his eye prickle with tears and his cheeks burn with a frustrated blush. He didn’t want to go, but he had no choice. He had enlisted to serve his country, and he that meant he couldn’t hold onto Arthur forever. No matter how much he may want to, Alfred knew that he would get on that plane and not see Arthur for another year.

The flight attendant called for the last of Alfred’s boarding group, and Alfred held onto Arthur a little closer.

“Arthur,” he said slowly, picking and choosing his words carefully so he wouldn’t let his confession slip out of his lips. “I’m… I don’t…”

“I know,” Arthur murmured with a nod, rubbing his hand against Alfred’s shoulders soothingly, carefully taking a small step closer to Alfred and connecting their torsos in an endless seam. “I know.”

The last boarding call was given, and when Alfred pulled himself away from Arthur, it was like he was pulling away a layer of skin with him. Pain etched itself into heart as Arthur’s fingers dragged down his arms and held onto his hands, those perfect, gentle fingers holding on until the very last second. Alfred took one slow step after another, choosing to look away from Arthur’s broken, sad expression before he broke down in tears. They’d both known that Alfred would have to leave eventually, but that didn’t cure the heartache Alfred felt when he handed his ticket to the flight attendant, and wiped at his teary eyes.

He walked onto the boarding gate and only glanced over his shoulder once, seeing Arthur sit down in one of the thin waiting chairs, and starting to cry. Something inside him screamed to turn around and comfort Arthur. Something threatened to snap when he heart told him to run back. Turning his back to Arthur, Alfred took a deep breath, lifted his chin, and didn’t look back.

++++

Alfred sat back against the crumbling wall of the house his company was using as a camp. He held two of Arthur’s letters in his hand, but he didn’t bother to look down at them. He’d opened the first letter a month ago, and reread it one hundred times. He’d already memorized each word that Arthur wrote and he’d absorbed every emotion that Arthur had put into the message.

_Alfred,_

_My parents were in an accident when they were touring in the Alps. They’re in a hospital overseas. The doctor tells me that they’re in critical condition. I don’t think I’ll be writing for a while._

_I miss you._

_– Arthur_

The words were cold and heavy. Alfred couldn’t help but be afraid of the next letter Arthur sent to him. It sat in his hand unopened, and he stared up at the stars with a troubled expression. What if Arthur’s parents had died in the accident? What if Arthur didn’t want to write to him anymore because he wanted to move on with his life? Alfred knew it was selfish, but he didn’t want Arthur to cut him off. He wanted to keep talking to Arthur. He wanted to go back to Arthur. He wanted to stay with Arthur for the rest of his life.

Alfred blinked up at the stars crossly. He knew that he wanted to be with Arthur. He’d known ever since they said goodbye at the airport. Hell, he’d known before that… he just didn’t want to recognize it. He was crazy about Arthur, and the idea of never talking to him ever again was undesirable to say the least.

Glancing down at the unopened letter in his hand, Alfred sighed. The letter could be Arthur retracting his statement of “I miss you,” in his former letter, and saying that he was only writing to be polite. It could bear the weight of Arthur saying he had started a relationship with someone new, and he could write to Alfred anymore. Or worse, it could hold the terrible news of Arthur’s parents passing away. If Arthur’s parents were gone, Alfred wanted to be there for Arthur. He wanted to comfort him; to hold him close and say that they were in a better place. He wanted to tell Arthur that everything was all right. Alfred blinked at the teas that welled in his eyes.

He didn’t want to be halfway across the world. He wanted to be holding Arthur in his arms. He didn’t want to wait another year to go back to Arthur for good. He wanted to run back to him and hide Arthur in his arms, keeping him from every painful feeling that threatened him.

Ripping open the letter in his hands, Alfred shakily unfolded the neatly pressed paper, scanning the letter quickly as his fellow soldiers grumbled about the temperature.

_Alfred,_

_My parents are fine, now. Safe and sound back home where they should have been in the first place. It turns out my father slipped out of the ski lift halfway up the side of the hill, and broke several bones. My mother tumbled down with him. Can you believe it? A couple of rowdy old fools, if you ask me._

Alfred smiled and huffed a laugh at that. His parents were fine. A little worse for wear, but they were still alive and breathing. That was more than enough. He continued reading.

_Other than that, I’ve gone back to my normal classes. We’re talking about the Revolutionary War. Ever heard of Alexander Hamilton? I’ve no doubt that you have. A wild fellow, that one._

Narrowing his eyes at that paragraph, Alfred started to frown. Arthur never wrote in such short paragraphs. He normally had a million words to say about teaching, but now… Alfred went to the next paragraph.

_I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Do you have the same problem? I keep dreaming that you don’t come home. That’s actually not much of a dream. It’s more of a nightmare. I’ve been having that dream more often, recently. It frightens me half to death when I wake up._

A large space between this paragraph, and then…

_I wish you were here. I wish I could see you and know you were alive._

Alfred’s breath caught in his chest; he wanted to be there, too. If Arthur had nightmares, Alfred wanted to soothe them with a calm smile and warm embrace. He wanted to be there when Arthur rolled over in bed, wide eyed and calling out for him. Alfred wanted to be there. He wanted it more than anything else in the world. And yet, he had to wait. His tour of duty was finished in two years.

Glancing back down, Alfred bit the inside of his cheek as he finished Arthur’s letter.

_Please be careful, Alfred. There’s only one of you, and I’d hate to lose you._

_Come home safe,_

_– Arthur_

Folding up Arthur’s letter, Alfred pulled out the extra piece of paper that Arthur sent so he could write back. His throat felt tight and his eyes stung with unshed tears, but he didn’t break. Alfred carefully slid Arthur’s letter back into its envelope and carefully pushed it down into the pocket he kept just for Arthur’s letters. He then pulled out the pen he’d hidden in one of his many pockets and pressed the paper flat to his thigh, hastily scribbling the only message he wanted to write before his vision blurred with tears.

_Arthur,_

_I want to come back to you._

_I miss you._

_– Alfred_

+++++

Three years. Seventy-five letters. And one very tired soldier.

Alfred stood outside Arthur’s door on a cool, February morning, holding his breath and debating whether or not he was making the right choice. Alfred was exhausted, mentally and physically. His body was worn by long marches through the heat of the desert, and his heart was continually tattered with every letter he and Arthur exchanged. He had very little time left until his tour of duty was finished, but he couldn’t wait anymore. He needed to come back and tell Arthur the truth.

And so, Alfred stood on Arthur’s front step with a heart that was heavy with emotion. If Arthur didn’t accept his feelings or was put-off by the confession, Alfred would go back to Afghanistan with a sigh of relief. If Arthur rejected him, he could stop spending sleepless nights imagining how he would feel if Arthur was there next to him. If Arthur pushed him away, Alfred wouldn’t be torn between writing, “I love you,” rather than “I miss you,” at the end of their letters. If Arthur finally cut him off and refused to speak to him ever again, Alfred could stop having those restless, fitful dreams that left him hot and breathless. At least, that’s what Alfred hoped.

When he knocked on the door, Alfred exhaled slowly, watching his breath cloud the air around him. It wasn’t even ten seconds before Arthur opened the door and stared up at Alfred with a look of utter shock. There was a split moment of hesitation where Arthur’s eyes flashed confused signals as he looked up at Alfred, clearly debating what he was feeling. Before Alfred could react to the dissuading uncertainty, the expression was replaced with unbridled joy as he leapt forward and wrapped his arms around Alfred’s neck.

“I knew it! God, I knew you’d be coming back any day now,” Arthur laughed into Alfred’s shoulder happily. “I just knew it.”

Alfred closed his eyes and breathed out blissful sigh, holding Arthur’s waist as the Brit grasped at his shoulders and held tight. He still wore his plain sweaters, still ran his hands through his hair too often and left it messy, and still smelled like lilacs. Nothing had changed in the year that Alfred had been away.

Burying his nose in the crook between Arthur’s shoulder and his neck, Alfred let his pack slip off of his shoulder and onto the solid concrete of the stairs. It didn’t matter. His letters from Arthur were tucked into the pockets, but they weren’t important now. He had the real Arthur there in his arms, and he was more than happy to let the letters go. The warmth in his chest never faded, even when Arthur leaned back to hold Alfred’s face in his hands.

“God, you… you…” Arthur trailed off, looking back and forth between Alfred’s eyes without any real conviction to finish his sentence.

Alfred looked down at those green eyes that haunted his dreams, that smile that beckoned Alfred forward, and those pale, pink lips that begged to be kissed. Alfred blinked, and pulled away from Arthur’s arms, stepping back to focus on the task at hand. He had promised himself that he would confess to Arthur without getting caught up in emotion or reminiscing. He had to tell Arthur before things went too far, and Alfred clung to tight. It would only end things bitterly for them both.

So Alfred bent down, picked up his pack, and gave Arthur a small smile as he murmured, “Can we talk?”

Arthur blinked spastically. “Y-yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t we…” Arthur blinked again, and waved Alfred inside. “Come in.”

Just as he did when he visited Arthur a year ago, Alfred set his bag just inside the door and followed Arthur into the living room. He was going to be honest and just let it all out. He had been mentally preparing himself for the confession from the moment he’d put in a formal request for the time to see Arthur. He’d steeled his nerves on the flight over, and didn’t even break a sweat when he climbed the steps to Arthur’s door.

But, as he sat down on Arthur’s beige-colored sofa, Alfred felt his heart start to pound. Butterflies started to flutter their wings in his stomach, and when Arthur sat down next to him, Alfred nearly lost his train of thought. It was just a few words. Just a few words that he had to say out loud. “I love you,” was a phrase that people said every day, so why was it so hard for Alfred to pry open his mouth and spit out the words?

Next to him, Arthur tapped his hands atop his thighs awkwardly, avoiding Alfred’s numb stare in favor of the coffee table. As the minutes started to slip past them with neither man speaking, Arthur finally glanced over at Alfred.

“So,” he said softly, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah,” Alfred nodded dumbly, blinking at Arthur’s anxious expression. Just say it, he willed himself. Just say those few words. Just do it, and finish it all. All he had to do was tell Arthur the truth, and then the nervous feeling that bubbled in his stomach would go away.

Just as Alfred opened his mouth to speak, Arthur reached over to place his hand on Alfred’s knee. Alfred looked down at the hand in confusion. What was Arthur doing? Why would he do that? Glancing up at Arthur’s pensive expression for answers, Alfred arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“Before you say anything,” Arthur started slowly, taking a deep breath before continuing with, “I think I need to… um… I need to tell you...” Standing up from the sofa, Arthur wandered to the far side of the living room where a desk was tucked into the corner. There, he opened a drawer and pulled out a single piece of paper and set it atop the desk. “I don’t want this to… I know that…”

Alfred sat forward on the sofa, fighting to steer the conversation back towards him. “Arthur, wait a second –”

“I need to tell you this, Alfred.” Arthur said quietly, effectively cutting off Alfred’s chance to slip in his confession. Arthur turned to look at him from across the room, leaning back against the desk as he held the mystery piece of paper in his slightly shaking hands. “I’ve had this letter for almost a year, now,” he murmured quietly, tapping his index finger against the paper. “But I always kept myself from sending it. For a long time, I’d thought I was making everything up in my head, but,” Arthur gave Alfred a vaguely longing look before he banished his eyes to the paper. “Then… that night… when you came back last year…”

Alfred’s breath caught as his heart kicked into overdrive. Was Arthur… was Arthur going to confess? Or was he meaning to send something much worse? He needed to know. “A-Arthur…”

Not Allowing Alfred to speak, Arthur cleared his throat and started to read his mystery, unsent letter. Alfred’s body froze, leaving his mouth hanging open stupidly as Arthur’s sweet voice filled the room.

“ _’My dearest Alfred_ ,’” he read aloud, his hands slightly trembling as he held the letter. Alfred blinked. ‘Dearest?’ Arthur had never addressed him like that. “ _’You’ve been touring in Afghanistan on and off for the past three years. And, as you know, I constantly worry about you.’_ ” Arthur glanced up at Alfred, as if to make sure he was still sitting there, then lowered his eyes back to the letter that shook in unsteady hands. “Um… _‘For the past three years, our letters have been the only comfort I could have. They were the only way I could assure myself that you were alive.’_ ”

Arthur took a breath, cleared his throat, and then continued to read.

“ _’I’ve cherished everything you’ve told me. I’ve held every secret you’ve entrusted to me. And I’ve prided myself with every kind word I’ve given and received. I’m…_ ’” Arthur paused, scratched at his forehead anxiously, and then held the paper again. “Uh… Right. _‘I’m s-sorry to confess that I’ve fallen in love with you.’_ ” Alfred’s eyes went wide, but Arthur kept going. “ _’I’ve fallen in love with your bravery, your kindness, and your fears.’_ Um…”

Arthur’s hands still shook, and Alfred knew he should try to comfort him, but he was stuck to the sofa. Frozen in a permanent state of shock. Without assistance, Arthur took a shuddering breath, and finished his letter.

“ _’I know that you don’t feel the same way, but I have to be honest with myself. I will never act on those feelings, and I hope that I can continued to be your good friend.’_ ” One more glance up at Alfred, and Arthur murmured, “ _’With every hope you’ll come home safely… Arthur.’_ ”

Alfred sat with a heart pounding faster than it had ever beat before. Even when he took his first shot with a rifle, he hadn’t felt his stomach twist into knots like this. His eyes hadn’t been nearly so wide, and he hadn’t felt like breathing was impossible. As Arthur folded his unsent letter and held it to his chest with shaking hands, Alfred with a slack jaw and lost voice.

Turning around, Arthur opened the drawer in his desk and carefully put the letter back where it had previously been hiding. Banished back to the place where no prying eyes would gain proof that Arthur was in love. And when Arthur turned back to face Alfred, he clasped his hands together and held them tight until his knuckles turned white.

Alfred stared at those nimble, trembling hands. He’d shaken Arthur’s right hand when they first met in college. Those hands had held onto him when he threatened to run over the edge of a bridge to escape finals. They were the same hands that had beaten a man to a pulp when Alfred had gotten into his first bar fight. Arthurs’ hands had held onto him when he cried, and pat his back when he was overjoyed. Those strong, gentle hands… Alfred knew them well.

Standing from his place on the sofa, Alfred slowly made his way to Arthur, cautiously watching the expression on Arthur’s face change from nervous to terrified. As if he was scared that Alfred would strike him down, afraid that Alfred might scream in his face, or panicked that Alfred would threaten to do unspeakable things. Alfred did no such thing. He merely took Arthur’s hands, worn with time and rough from years of turning pages and writing papers, and held them as he looked down into Arthur’s wide eyes of roughly jut jade.

“I thought,” Arthur finally whispered. “That after all the time we were apart, I made it up in my head. I thought… I was in love with the _idea_ of you, rather than who you really are. But,” Arthur blinked rapidly, looking down at where their hands were connected in an unbreakable bond. “But… I couldn’t… I tried… I tried so hardto fall out of love with you. I did. I tried to move on, but I never could.”

Alfred felt an ache pull at his chest, and he gave Arthur a sad look. “Arthur,”

“But I couldn’t do it.” Arthur interrupted swiftly, squeezing Alfred’s hands until he was sure to cut off the blood flow to his fingers. Alfred didn’t care. “I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t in love with who you are… who you’ve become… and then,” he looked back up to Alfred’s calm, blue eyes, and gave him a shaky smile. “And then you came back. And I… I fell in love with you all over again.”

Sighing, Alfred stepped a little closer, crowding Arthur against the desk. “Arthur –”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I know you’re probably angry or… or confused, but I… I just…”

“Arthur.” Alfred said solidly, staring down at Arthur until the Brit finally looked him in the eye. “Be quiet.”

Arthur blinked hard. “W-what?”

Releasing Arthur’s hands, Alfred cupped Arthur’s cheeks, and leaned forward, barely whispering the words, “Stop talking,” before he closed his eyes, and kissed Arthur’s perfectly soft lips.

Arthur was frozen against him, his hands holding Alfred’s impossibly tight as Alfred parted his lips and kissed him again. Arthur loved him. He said it out loud. It was real. He didn’t have to run away from those feelings or bury them deep in his mind where they would never be retrieved again. Arthur _loved_ him. Of anyone in the world Arthur could’ve chosen, he chose Alfred. That thought buzzed excitedly in the back of Alfred’s mind as Arthur hesitantly began to kiss him back.

It was a soft, unsure kind of kiss, like Arthur was afraid that he was dreaming, and Alfred would disappear if he made a wrong move or pushed too hard. Releasing Arthur’s hands, Alfred put one hand on Arthur’s waist and cupped the back of his neck with the other, pulling Arthur up into another, more solid kiss.

For months, Alfred had dreamed of kissing Arthur like this. He’d imagined pulling up the bottom of his sweater and running his hands over skin that was softer than silk. He had longed for Arthur to stand on the tips of his toes and desperately grasp at his short hair, knocking his glasses askew. He’d wished that he could bite Arthur’s bottom lip just like that, and hear Arthur give a short, surprised gasp when he did. He’d dreamed of it, longed for it, and prayed for it with every bit of his heart. And as he held Arthur tighter and kissed him again, Alfred finally felt at peace with the raging emotions inside himself.

Before he noticed it, Alfred felt himself walking backward. Arthur was pushing him back, but they never separated. Each step back was punctuated with a kiss from Arthur. A quick, pronounced press of his lips that promised more if Alfred kept moving. He knew where they were headed; to the stairs. Arthur’s bedroom was at the top of the stairs. Opening his eyes quickly, Alfred halted his steps and held onto Arthur’s shoulders, effectively holding him back.

“Arthur,” he breathed as he straightened his glasses and blinked down at Arthur’s wide eyes.

His pupils were blown wide, as if Alfred was a drug he couldn’t get enough of… Alfred swallowed anxiously. A few women had looked at him like that before, but it never made Alfred feel excited. But Arthur… oh, Arthur was more than exciting. He was a trill that Alfred was urged to experience over and over again. An addicting, fitful kind of exciting that Alfred hadn’t felt for anyone before.

Reigning in his thoughts, Alfred took a breath and finally mumbled, “I love you, too.”

Arthur immediately melted against him, and were it not for the dreamy look in his eyes, Alfred would’ve panicked. But Alfred looped his arms around Arthur’s waist and held him steady as he leaned his weight heavily against Alfred. Luckily, Alfred had grown strong from long months of moving materials and training at base camp, and he was readily prepared to keep Arthur upright.

“Oh, thank god,” Arthur sighed gratefully as he held onto Alfred’s biceps. “All this time I’ve been fretting and –” Quickly interrupting, Alfred held a finger to Arthur’s lips, cutting Arthur’s words to a garbled halt.

“Why would I have kissed you if I didn’t feel the same?” Alfred asked quietly, watching Arthur’s dreamy eyes earned a quizzical glint.

“Why?” Arthur echoed incredulously, his eyebrows drawing together as Alfred held his hands at the small of Arthur’s back, rubbing circles at the base of Arthur’s spine with his thumbs. Arthur still held onto him, leaning against Alfred as he mulled the reasons Alfred would have kissed him back. “Well… you’ve been off in Afghanistan for a few years, and… and I don’t know about you, but I’d probably get a little desperate for human contact, and –”

“Okay… that’s wrong. No.” Alfred said immediately, shaking his head.

Arthur only continued with a perplexed expression. “Which is fine. It’s a natural human thing to crave that kind of intimacy,”

“No.” Alfred said again, continuously shaking his head.

“And sure, I guess I’d feel a little used in the end, but if we both benefit from –”

Alfred held his hand to Arthur’s lips again. “Stop. You’re overthinking.”

“I do that a lot,” Arthur grumbled against Alfred’s hand, moving his arms so he could wrap his arms around Alfred’s neck. “I also like to hog the blankets.”

“That’s kinda cute,” Alfred said with a tired shrug. Arthur made a face at that, and Alfred started to rock side to side, making Arthur sway with him. “But if we’re confessing our issues before we really start something, you should know that I talk in my sleep.”

“I know,” Arthur said with a roll of his eyes. “I could _always_ hear you when we lived in the dorm. I still remember the time you sat up and said your entire cellphone number out loud and went back to sleep.”

Alfred laughed at that. “Are we not gonna talk about the time you were ‘struck by inspiration’ in the middle of the night and wrote an entire essay for a class you weren’t in?”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. “That still happens! I got up just the other day to make a diagram for my book.”

Alfred stopped swaying so he could dramatically hold a hand to his heart. “Oh god… that’s adorable. You used to get so excited about that stuff. And you still do it.” Careful not to push Arthur’s hands around his neck away, Alfred took off his glasses and pretended to wipe away an emotional tear. “I think I’m falling in love all over again.”

Arthur took Alfred’s face in his hands and pulled him down for another kiss, only leaning away to smile and whisper, “Oh, Alfred… I think I am, too.”

+++++

_I’ll be home for Christmas._

Alfred had promised Arthur that he’d be back for Christmas. As he sprinted through the uptown streets of Seattle, Alfred cursed himself for falling asleep in the terminal of his connecting flight. His four-year tour was finally over, and he could safely come home to Arthur for good. But like an idiot, Alfred had sat back in his chair and fallen asleep in the airport. After five hours, he was finally shaken awake by a tired flight attendant who worriedly asked what flight he had been waiting for.

After missing his initial flight – and the next three flights that were available to take him home – Alfred had finally managed to board a low-fare flight that would take him back to Arthur. But, after he’d arrived in Seattle, he discovered his bag had been put on the wrong plane. Alfred was happy his passport and wallet were in one of his many pants pockets and not lost in whatever carrousel his luggage was stuck on, revolving around a strange airport while Alfred raced through the city streets.

He and Arthur had started a long-distance relationship in February when he came back to tell Arthur that he was in love. From there, the words “I love you,” and “I wish I could see you,” were commonly exchanged through their routine letters, warming Alfred’s heart across miles of land and sea. But, the months had been wearing them down, and each letter grew more desperate and honest as the weeks passed, leaving Alfred with a dull ache in his chest as he glanced up at a street sign, and turned left on Park Avenue.

It was already late; the sky was dark and the streets were nearly empty. Ten o’clock had rolled past Alfred when he’d left the airport, and when he tried to hail a cab, they’d only agreed to drive him halfway through uptown Seattle before they would stop driving for the night. Alfred agreed, but only because he needed to cover as much ground as he could. He needed to make it back to Arthur before Christmas day was over. He had to give him his present.

Because his first four years of service were over, Alfred had a choice to make. He could officially enlist in the army again to gain the profits and assistance of the military, or he could become a civilian and be kept in the army reserves. In college, Alfred hadn’t known what he wanted to accomplish with his life, and that was why he’d first enlisted… he thought he was going for the good of his nation, but really, he just wanted some kind of structure to support him as he tried to sort out his priorities.

Everything was sorted, and decisions had been made; Alfred was going to come home for good. Arthur had been asking what choice he would make, and promised to be supportive regardless of the choice, but Alfred knew that he wanted to come home for a very long time. It was his gift to Arthur. It was cheesy, overly dramatic and a sticky, sentimental kind of romantic. Arthur would no doubt love it, and request that he could unwrap Alfred as soon as possible so he could thoroughly enjoy his gift.

Alfred would immediately oblige.

That was, he would if he could make it back in time to still say that it was a present. The sidewalks were slick from the melted snow and dusted with small salt crystals that crunched under his boots as he ran – in full uniform and at top speed – down the street Arthur lived. Arthur had continually said that it was as good as Alfred’s home as well, but Alfred knew it would take some time to refer to it as his home.

Bounding up the stairs to the front door, Alfred leaned over the left side of the railing to peek at the living room window, only seeing the slight glow of a small lamp through the sheer curtains. Digging into his pocket, Alfred pulled out the small key that Arthur had given him the last time he’d visited, and quietly unlocked the door.

“Arthur?” He said as he stepped inside, taking a deep breath and immediately smelling sugar cookies. He smiled; Arthur had been baking again. “Arthur?”

Closing and locking the door behind himself, Alfred squinted down the dark hallway as he waited for a response. No response came. The second floor was dark, and the house was an uncomfortable kind of quiet. Alfred peered into the kitchen, but only a plate of cookies waited for him. Plucking one cookie from the plate, Alfred took a bite and wandered down the dark hall, glancing into Arthur’s study as he went.

“Arthur? Baby, I’m home.” His boots thudded loudly on the hardwood floors as he ducked his head to avoid one of Arthur’s hanging plants. Reasoning that Arthur might have already gone to sleep, Alfred shoved the last of his cookie into his mouth and walked back to the entryway so he could unlace his boots, change out of his uniform, and climb into bed with Arthur.

When he passed by the living room, Alfred paused to see a small tree sitting on the coffee table. It couldn’t have been more than a foot high, but it was lit up with tiny, decorative lights that illuminated the room. It must’ve been the light that Alfred saw through the curtains. Alfred sighed; Arthur really had put up a tree for Christmas. It was small, but it was still there. He must’ve remembered how much Alfred loved Christmas, and bought it even though he never cared for the holiday.

After he pulled off his boots, Alfred walked into the living room with every intention of unplugging the tiny tree, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw Arthur laying on the sofa. The Brit was curled into a ball, swaddled in a soft, fleece blanket as he breathed slowly and deeply. Alfred smiled down at him fondly, watching Arthur’s eyelashes flutter as he dreamed.

Kneeling down in front of the sofa, Alfred carefully put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. Arthur inhaled sharply and scrunched his eye closed tightly, pulling the blanket around him tighter as Alfred smiled wider.

“Arthur… babe, I’m home.”

Arthur yawned, “You’re home.” As he shifted on the sofa to become more comfortable.

Alfred nodded and shook Arthur’s shoulder again. “Baby, I’m home. I made it in time,” he glanced at his watch, happily reading that it was still fifteen minutes until midnight. “It’s still Christmas Arthur. I can still give you that present I was telling you about,” Arthur blinked up at him blearily, and Alfred cautiously smiled at him. “Remember? I said I had a surprise for you? I can give it to you now.”

Arthur hummed inquisitively, carefully murmuring, “I remember,” as he visibly struggled to keep his eyes open.

Brushing his thumb over Arthur’s cheek, Alfred leaned forward and kissed Arthur soundly before he whispered. “I’m home for good, Arthur. I’m staying here with you. I just have to do some training and do an excise once a month for the reserves, but… but I’m home. Home for good.”

Arthur hummed again, sleepily repeating the words, “Home for good,” as his eyes closed.

Alfred breathed a laugh as he blinked at the tears that stung at his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m home for good, baby. I’m staying right here with you. I’m sorry I’m late,” he kissed Arthur’s cheek and whispered, “But I made it in time for Christmas.”

Arthur merely smiled and whispered, “You’re _home_.”

“Yeah,” Alfred laughed again, sniffling once as he nodded. “Merry Christmas, Arthur.”

Reaching out from underneath his warm blanket, Arthur brushed his fingertips along Alfred’s jaw carefully like he needed to confirm that Alfred was real. When he was satisfied with his assessment, Arthur smiled lazily and murmured, “Happy Christmas, love.”

Letting out a satisfied sigh, Alfred stood up and peeled away Arthur’s blanket, hearing a vague noise of confusion from his lover’s lips as he did so. Before Arthur could properly complain, Alfred rolled Arthur until he could pick him up in his arms, grunting beneath his weight. From there, he carefully carried Arthur up the dark stairs and to the bedroom where he set Arthur on the bed and got out of his uniform.

When he finally climbed into bed with Arthur and pulled the smaller man close, he smiled when Arthur wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed his cheek to Alfred’s chest.

“Welcome home,” Arthur finally sighed as he easily started to drift off.

“Consider it a gift,” Alfred said as he kissed the top of Arthur’s head and held him just a bit closer. The clock on the nightstand ticked the time away as Alfred’s eyelids few heavier with each blink, and Arthur’s slow breathing was a lullaby as Alfred yawned and breathed, “From me to you.”

\- End -


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